The service ended, and the people scattered, but the organist played on,
and the boy choir regathered, but less formally.
"What is it?" we asked of the verger, who was preparing to close
the doors.
"There will be a funeral of one of the oldest members of the
congregation to-morrow, and they are about to go through the music of
the office."
Suddenly a rich bass voice, strong in conviction, trumpeted forth--"I am
the resurrection and the life!" And only a stone's throw away jingled the
money market of the western world. The temple and the table of the money
changers keep step as of old. Ah, wonderful New York!
* * * * *
The afternoon was clear staccato and mild withal, and the sun, almost at
setting, lingered above orange and dim cloud banks at the end of the
vista Broadway made.
"Are you tired? Can you walk half a dozen blocks?" asked Evan of Miss
Lavinia, as we came out.
"No, quite the reverse; I think that I am electrified," she
replied briskly.
"Then we will go to Battery Park," he said, turning south.
"Battery Park, where all the immigrants and roughs congregate! What an
idea! We shall catch smallpox or have our pockets picked!"
"Have you ever _been_ there?" persisted Evan.
"Yes, once, I think, when steamship passengers lathed at the barge
office, and of course I've seen it often in going to Staten Island to
visit Cousin Lucretia.
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